


42,048,000 Beats

by markfuckerberg



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: Anti-Climax, F/M, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Reader-Insert, Science, Sherlock being hopelessly in love with you, You being absolutely clueless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markfuckerberg/pseuds/markfuckerberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's heart beats 42,048,000 times every year but this year it will beat only for you. If only you noticed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. gay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sherlock makes a dream board

_Ba-boom!_

Sherlock's heart leaped as you stuck your chest in his face, not on purpose of course.

You were simply reaching for more magazines for your dream boards.

Yes, somehow Sherlock Holmes had been coerced into making dream boards.

This is love in its truest form.

By the time you'd pulled away he looked like someone set his face on fire. "Sherlock!!!" you screeched, your own face red as a beet, "I-I'm so sorry!"

" No problem” he muttered looking down at the paper cut out of a brain on his dream board.

You followed his eyes to his dream board, smiling at the clutter of paper cut-outs that represented his desires for himself.

"What's that for?" you asked eager to change the subject; pointing to crudely drawn man outlined in yellow marker.

"One of my dreams is to investigate the murder of our dear Anderson. Of course I already know whodunit and why." He scooted in, his lips a hairs breath away from your ear, “Sally Donovan.”

Even though Anderson was a beloved friend and you didn't want him to be murdered by his former colleague/mistress, you couldn't help but laugh.

_Ba-boom!_

Sherlock's heart raced as you laughed softly, sure he was serious about getting rid off that nusance and his raging cow of a concubine but your laugh was so beautifully contagious that he had to laugh too.

"What about your board?" He chuckled inspecting your board.

"If you want flowers, take some of Mrs. Hudson’s she has a plethora.” he instructed pointing to a flourishing red rose on your board.

You snatched your board away from him "The red rose symbolizes romance.”

“Romance?” He sneered, writing Mycroft’s name on the coffin he’s so carefully cut out.

_Ba-boom!_

“Yes, Sherlock, Romance. It’s just so incredibly lonely when everyone you know is dating someone!”

He looked up at you, raising his dark brows, “Are you are forgetting that I am also single?”

“Yes, but Sherlock you’re gay."

His face drained of colour, "I am very straight! Never mind what the tabloids say!"

You rolled your eyes, "Sherlock, you're gay. It’s okay, everyone still loves you,"

"No, no they don't because I am not gay!"

You huffed "In the entire time we've known each you’ve shown interest in two girls both were for the benefit of a case! Besides whenever we're together you don't so much as glance at other girls!"

_Ba-boom!_

He clasped his sweaty palms and coughed "Pardon me me but I have to leave and never come back."

You watched in utter shock as he pulled on his scarf and coat before racing down the stairs.

“Sherlock this is your house!”


	2. baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which babies are disgusting but sherlock doesn't mind as long as you're around

Sherlock swore to himself that he was never, ever having a child. Ever.

 And he’d run off and work for Graham Lestrade at the dreaded Scotland Yard before he agreed to babysit one.

But you with your pretty eyes and nice smelling hair had swindled him into this.

“Good god! You need to change her nappy.” Sherlock sneered, sniffing the smelly baby Watson.

“I need to?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at your friend, “You’re holding her. Whoever clutches it flushes it.”

“That rule is bullocks!” Sherlock protested, “You’ve only just made that up. You should do it; you’re the one that volunteered to babysit.”

“And you volunteered to help!”

_Ba-Boom_

“Please just do it.” Sherlock whined, placing the baby into your arms.

“Come on,” You groaned, leading him to the bathroom.

You were fairly good at the whole deal-calculated, nurturing and quick. Sherlock reasoned that he would be awful. He’d get talcum powder everywhere and got squeamish just watching. You threw the nappy away without so much as a cringe and pulled the baby into your arms cooing lovingly to her.

He smiled to himself; you looked lovely with baby Watson on your hip. But Sherlock couldn’t help but imagine how much lovelier you’d appear babbling nonsensically to a baby Holmes.

_Ba-Boom_

“Here you go, go on to Uncle Sherlock now.” You hummed to the child, sliding her into Sherlock’s far from capable hands.

Under your close and careful instruction he rocked the baby to sleep. Unsure of what to do he loomed nervously over the crib refusing to take his eyes off the child.

“Look at you! You’ll be such a good dad!” You whispered, sporting the sweet smile that roped him into this mess.

_Ba-boom_

“You think I would be a good dad?” He laughed in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me?” You replied, your grin widening “You’re the most brilliant man I have ever met. You’d be a fantastic dad. You’re already an amazing uncle.”

_Ba-boom_

“Yeah, you might not be the kindest man in London but I know you care. We all do.” You whispered. You glanced at the crib to check on the baby. She was fast asleep and didn’t have a care in the world.

He smiled at you, hoping to convey a silent ‘thank you for understanding me’. You seemed to receive his message and the two of you stood there for a while bathing in each other’s quiet company.

_Ba-boom_

The quiet-uncharacteristic for 221B as it was- was broken by Mrs. Hudson’s loud proclamation of how domestic you two looked: “Look at you two!! You look like a proper married couple!”

Like clockwork baby Watson began screeching bloody murder.


	3. help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sherlock battles substance induced mood disorder and you just want to fix it

You waltzed into his room like you owned the building.

  
_Ba-Boom!_

  
You drew the curtains, letting the light stream onto his face. He pressed his face into his pillow to avoid the brightness.

He could hear your shuffling around his room. Doing your best to clean days’ worth of mess in a few minutes. He appreciated the effort.

It was quiet for a moment. He wondered if you left.

  
_Ba-Boom!_

He felt a gentle hand place itself on his back. You sat and the bed sunk under the added weight. He felt your hand travel up his back to the nape of his neck.

"You need to get out of bed."

He didn't respond. You fingered the hairs at the back of his head.

"When's the last time you ate? Or showered?"

He stayed silent. You couldn’t understand if you wanted. Talking was a waste of precious breath.

You sighed, your breathing shaky. You squeezed the back of his neck in a brief display of affection.

"You need help." You said, your voice was half worry and half disgust, "You have a problem"

_B_ _a-Boom!_

The bed shifted as you got up. You left the room as suddenly as you entered it. He couldn't help but notice your strides were somewhat more - dare he say - defeated?


	4. threat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sherlock calls a false bomb threat to ensure your future safety

Sherlock was sitting quietly in his kitchen enjoying a fresh cup of tea made begrudgingly by Mrs. Hudson.  
His serene moment destroyed by a boisterous slam at his front door followed by you yelling: “SHERLOCK!”

_Ba-boom!_

He watched you storm into the kitchen, shrugging your jacket off and tossing it into his chair. He gingerly took a sip of his tea, still carefully eyeing your seething form.

“You’re home a bit early, today.” He muttered into his teacup. 

You took a deep breath in, “Yes, I am. Do you know why I am home early today Sherlock?” You ask menacingly, over pronouncing the “k” in his name. “Someone called a bomb threat into the office. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you?”

_Ba-boom!_

He cleared his throat, casting his gaze into the beige abyss of his tea. “I cannot say I do.”

You rolled your eyes, “Funny, because right when Scotland Yard came to my office to take care of the bomb problem. Lestrade got a text. Do you know what that text said?” You interrogated him stepping closer. He’d have to remember to take you along on his next case. 

He took a gulp of tea, “No.” He did in fact know exactly what the text said. 

You gave him a look that put the eyes of any demon to shame, “It said, ‘not to worry it was me -SH’.”

_Ba-boom!_

“I was making sure that the bomb threat would be handled properly.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You asked, your nostrils flaring in that cute way they did when you were angry.

“You should thank me. Who else would have done this for you? Not John, certainly not Molly.”

You threw your arms up in defeat, “That’s it! I’m done with you.” You announced, walking out of 221B without your jacket. 

Sherlock smiled to himself, you both knew you’d be back within the hour.


	5. single

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sherlock reminds you you're a bamf and you need no man

It was eight forty-three in the evening when you arrived home from your date. Exactly one hour and seventeen minutes before you’d predicted you would and three hours and two minutes before you had instructed Sherlock to call the police if you hadn’t.

Ba-Boom!

He felt guiltily excited that your date hadn’t gone well. Sherlock cautiously watched you fling yourself onto the couch. Your position and outfit briefly reminded Sherlock of The Study in Pink.

“What’s happened?” He asked, setting his violin down.

“I am going to die alone with six cats and they’ll eat my corpse.” You groaned into a pillow.

Sherlock sat on his chair, watching your tantrum unfold “That is not very specific.”

“The date was failure, Sherlock!” You barked, looking up from the pillow for a moment, “Like every other one I’ve been on in the last four months!”

He felt a tingle run down his spine as you glared at him like that, he was fairly certain not even Moriarty would be able to look at you when you were upset like that.

_Ba-Boom!_

“I don’t understand why you go on dates if you don’t believe they will go well.” He told you, watching you kick your heel clad feet around in frustration.

“Because I cannot find a boyfriend just sitting here with you!” You shouted, making something in Sherlock freeze.

_Ba-Boom!_

“You don’t need a boyfriend.” He sighed, awkwardly patting your head, “You’re brilliant on your own.”

You lifted your head, “Promise?” you sniffed.

“Promise.” He nodded, you were quite brilliant.

You nodded, and motioned towards your purse “Pass me my bag, I've stolen us some breadsticks.”


	6. rug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which you just want a new rug and catcallers are the worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your sweet comments! I'm going to try to update more regularly. This chapter is based off this catcaller at my school.

It was a cold day in London. Too cold for Sherlock’s liking but you’d insisted that he join you on your morning run (that became more of a morning jog before shifting completely into a morning walk) around Baker street. 

Hell would freeze over the day you stopped being able to persuade him into do things he didn’t want to. He is sure that with your full lips, shiny hair, bright eyes, melodic laughter you could make him nose-dive into a volcano. 

“Sherlock!” You said, using the voice you only used when you had to repeat yourself. You looked at him with cool eyes, waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t hear you ask. 

_Ba-Boom!_

“…Repeat the question.” He mumbled, watching as your body was absorbed by slight irritation. 

“I said,” you began, obnoxiously slow and loud, “what do you think about a new rug in the sitting room?” 

He furrowed his brow, “What’s wrong with the one we have now?”

You brought your hand to your hips and licked your lips, Sherlock tried to tear his focus away from your pink tongue peeking out and swiping across your soft lips. 

_Ba-Boom!_

“You burned holes in that one!” You reminded him.

It’s only one hole, he was about to say.

Until…

“Hey baby, I love the way those slacks hug your tight little arse for me.”

 

_Ba-Boom!_

Sherlock was ready to kill. He was perfectly prepared to murder this man and be sent to some eastern European country to spend the rest of his life growing potatoes and raising goats. He was ready. 

You rolled your eyes, and tugged Sherlock’s sleeve, “Ignore him.” You commanded.

“Come on peaches, don’t give me the cold shoulder! Why be with that loser when you could have my big, thick dick up your- “

That was the last straw. Sherlock was going to kill this man and mount his head on Big Ben. 

“What is your problem?” You roared, shoving the catcaller back. Shocking both him and Sherlock.

 _Ba-Boom!_

The man left the question unanswered, his lip quivering. Sherlock almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

Your hands traveled to the assailant’s collar, “Do you honestly think I wear these pants so you and all the other sods can objectify me? I wear them for me.” 

The guy was momentarily paralyzed, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to ever actually respond, let alone get up in his face about it.

“And do you honestly believe that any self-respecting human being would ever date an animal like you?” 

The man recovered from his surprise and quickly, jaunted his hips out lewdly, “I can show you an animal, baby.” 

You turned to Sherlock in disbelief, war visible in your eyes before focusing back on the catcaller. “Now I just feel bad for you, your mum, your gran, your kids-God forbid you happen to have any! You are a grown man, at 8 in the morning on a Sunday, making everyone uncomfortable!” 

“You will literally never get into anyone’s pants with your stupid little lines. It’s not cute or charming, and it doesn’t make anyone at all eager to do anything but apologize to your mum and pray for your slow death.” The entire street crew was dead silent, all with slack jawed expressions. All trying not to stare but failing miserably. “If you ever want to lose your virginity, I recommend stop being a creep and talk to a woman without publicly degrading her!” 

You release him from your grip and smoothen out your clothes, “And for the record, I would pick this ‘loser’ over you any day!”

_Ba-Boom!_

 

“Now,” you transitioned looping your arm around Sherlock’s “About that rug…”

After that, Sherlock agreed you should have any rug you liked.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sherlock Holmes: The One That Got Away](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988676) by [Amethyst97Skye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye)




End file.
